‘Did your stepfather not claim you as his son?’
‘He did, though he never accepted me because the man was not my natural father,’ Will said balefully.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘So was I, especially since I only found out after he died.’
‘I thought you had always known.’
He shook his head. ‘It explained much. Why I didn’t look like my siblings. Why Matthew Geraint resented me and why a son of a stonemason was permitted to become a knight.’
Will felt the perpetual bitterness about his past rise up from his gut. And yet expunging it, sharing this with Isabel, eased and shifted something inside him, as if something that he’d been holding on to was finally released.
‘After Matthew Geraint died, following the siege at Portchester, my mother finally told me that my natural father was Guy, Lord de Manville, who had offered them money and helped Matthew become an apprentice, as long as he took on his bastard.’ His lips twisted in disgust. ‘When the time came, Lord de Manville assisted with obtaining a position for me as a squire.’
‘Oh, Will…’
‘Don’t you see, Isabel? My whole life had been a damned lie.’
They stood there, looking out at the horizon, his throat suddenly tight. How had they got to discussing such private matters? Matters that even his friend Hugh de Villiers didn’t know.
Isabel expelled a deep breath and turned to him. ‘No, I see a man who is trying to make sense of his past, but condemning himself and everyone he loves in the process.’
‘That is untrue.’
‘Is it?’ she asked gently. ‘It seems possible that your mother, your natural father and even the man who raised you tried to do right by you.’
‘Yes, but—’
She raised her hand before he could discount that untruth. ‘No one is without fault, Will. No one is infallible. Even you, with your resounding virtues.’
‘That I do know.’
‘But that is what makes us mortal, is it not? We all make mistakes—you, me and all those who are supposed to love, nurture and protect us.’
‘I appreciate what you are saying, but it’s not quite as simple as that. My mother should have told me.’
‘Yes, she should have, but have you ever considered…? Could it be possible that your mother may have made a promissory oath to your stepfather not to tell you about your natural father until after his death?’
Will was taken back by that statement. No, he had never considered that. Yet it was possible that Matthew’s pride would make him act in such a way.
‘Do you believe that your mother purposely wished to hurt you, Will? I can see from your face that she would not…so don’t allow this huge chasm to come between you. You don’t need to redeem yourself; you need to forgive her and absolve yourself from all this unwanted blame and guilt you carry with you.’
‘Isabel, I—’
‘You once said to me that you are the shell of the man you used to be,’ she continued. ‘The man I see is so much better than that. Your standing in the world is not defined by what you believe others may think of you, rather, how you define yourself. Don’t become something you’re not.’
Will stared at her, trying to absorb everything she had said. He gave himself a mental shake. ‘When—’ he swallowed ‘—when did you become so wise?’
‘I don’t know, but I sometimes surprise myself.’
‘Oh, you never fail to surprise me.’ It was his turn to give her hand a squeeze. ‘Thank you…’ he muttered, unable to say any more.
She flushed. ‘Glad to be of help. It’s the least I can do after the many times you have saved my life.’
Sometimes it took another person’s perspective to show a different way to view the world. Was it possible that Will had not fully appreciated the complicated arrangements that had been made to secure his future? He wished now that he hadn’t acted so impulsively when he last saw his mother and had instead asked more about his natural father. But sentiment and emotion had woven their way into his head, casting aside sense and reason.
It had been at a time when he had been raw with grief and guilt from his failure after Portchester and the death of a man who had reared him as a son, yet cared little for him. One thing compounded the other until Will had forsaken his old life and replaced everything he had once known with darkness, anger and bitterness.
He turned and caught Isabel’s worried gaze and smiled in gratitude, feeling as though something intangible had been lifted. His heart throbbed in his chest as her lips curved slowly, returning his smile. What also surprised him was the depth of his feelings for this woman standing beside him.
Isabel de Clancey was as kind as she was lovely. Indeed, the most remarkable woman he had ever known. A woman he cared about deeply.
* * *
They spent several more days at sea, before finally reaching the port of Southampton. Isabel stood out on deck, clasping Perdu as the vessel came to dock, her eyes fixed on her first view of England since she had been a child.
Home…
Try as she might, though, she could not muster any meaningful feeling regarding this significant moment in her life. In fact, she felt bereft and a little empty, but it was probably nothing more than a little trepidation. She would ostensibly find that flicker of emotion once she reached Castle de Clancey and saw her mother again.
Isabel felt a presence beside her and knew it would be Will. She smiled at him and felt the warmth of his response reflected in his eyes. Bewildered, she wondered how it was possible that every time he smiled at her in that way of his, she felt the same sensations. Her stomach would flip over itself and she would always feel the heat of his gaze, all the way down to her toes.
He turned his head to watch the same sweeping scenery as they arrived back home to England. It occurred to her that this was just as much a homecoming for Will as it was for her.
‘So, here we are, my lady.’
‘So here we are,’ she repeated in a voice that even to her own ears sounded flat.
‘And are you well?’
Isabel could feel the concern dripping from his words. She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Indeed, and you? It must be strange coming back for you as well.’
He raised a brow. ‘Yes, I suppose so. When I left England, I thought I would never see this kingdom again.’
She nodded. ‘Neither did I.’
‘And yet, here we are,’ he muttered again as he turned to face her. ‘Though this must be far more bewildering for you?’
‘I suppose it must be.’ She sighed. ‘I thought I’d feel anger, bitterness or sorrow, possibly even a little excitement about being back, but I feel…nothing.’
He threaded his fingers through hers and brought her hand up to his lips. ‘That’s more than understandable, Isabel, after everything that has happened.’
‘Do you truly believe so?’
‘Of course, my lady. You left England when you did not know much about your future, leaving everyone you loved behind. Coming back now must seem a little unreal. Does it?’
‘The truth is that I don’t know what to expect now that we’re back.’
‘And that makes you uneasy?’
She nodded. ‘It may sound nonsensical, but I somehow feel as though I’m walking into the unknown.’
He turned her hand round and soothed the palm with the pad of his thumb.
‘I know. I feel the same,’ he murmured, nodding. ‘In life, we often take paths that are plagued with uncertainty, that force us to make decisions blindfolded.’
Her brows furrowed. ‘A little like this journey.’
He chuckled softly. ‘Yes, exactly. This whole journey has been a voyage into the unknown, as you put it.’ He grazed her knuckles with his lips. ‘The same as when I was a soldier, on the eve of a battle.’
‘I’ve been on my own for so long, Isabel, that I don’t know any more,’ he said, gazing into the distance. ‘But I confess that I miss the sense of camaraderie—the friendship.’
‘And now that you’re back, you won’t need to be on your own any longer.’ She flushed, meeting his gaze.
‘I hope not.’ He shrugged. ‘Although, I, too, don’t know what to expect.’
‘That’s the problem with having an expectation. You hope that it doesn’t all turn to dust.’ She frowned. ‘Like you, I have been on my own all these years—oh, I know I was luckier than most being adopted by a family, but I could never be me. But now, I’m not sure that I can be the noblewoman I’m expected to be either.’
‘You don’t need to be what others expect of you. Be the noblewoman you want to be, Isabel. You’re incredible and your strength lies in your kind heart. Don’t ever change for anyone.’
Isabel stared at him, speechless, unable to say anything, her colour deepening.
He thought her incredible and kind-hearted?
She was not used to such compliments, but knew that Will would never say them unless he meant them.
Good grief!
He was still ardently talking to her. ‘I’m not the same man that I once was,’ he said softly. ‘Nothing in life stays the same.’
She remained silent for a while as they drew closer to the port, the outline of the dwellings, boats and people becoming clearer.
‘When did you become so wise?’ she said finally, repeating the same words Will had said as they had watched the sunrise together a few days ago.
He didn’t reply, but gave her an eloquent look instead.
Isabel hadn’t seen much of Will since that resplendent morn, after his poignant revelations. It had been cathartic for Will to be able to unburden himself to her. He seemed much lighter, happier even, without the weight he had been carrying for so long. And though it had made her ache for all that Will had suffered, it had made Isabel feel humble that he had entrusted her with his woes. It also meant that she understood him a lot better.
Since then, things had changed between them. The overwhelming tension seemed to have drifted away with the storm. In its stead was an unfettered connection between them that was stronger than before. A powerful attraction that simply took her breath away.
The truth was that Isabel cared deeply for the man standing beside her, but knew it was futile. It would cause her a different sort of heartache now that they were back in England, so close to the end of their journey.
She pushed away these musings. ‘I just wish that I felt something now that I’m back in England.’
‘Allow for more time to get used to it, Isabel…just as I shall have to.’
Time…
It was the one thing that she knew was slipping away from her. This precious time she had left with Will. Mayhap that was also the reason why she was also feeling apprehensive. The knowledge that it would all come to an end soon.
‘I suppose I shall have to.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Once they had disembarked, Will knew that, without the Templars’ protection, there could once again be the possibility of danger from Rolleston and his men. He would take no chances now that they were back on English soil. He must be alert to any eventuality.
The lodgings Will had secured were with the local shipyard’s carpenter and the furthest dwelling along the quay. Before doing anything, Will asked for parchment and ink so that he could write to Hugh de Villers, Lord Tallany, hoping that he was at Winchester Castle so that the messenger would not have to travel as far north as Tallany Castle. The matter of urgency in his missive could not be helped. He must get through to his old friend and hope that the strength of their friendship still carried favour.
Will also wrote to his mother, knowing that although she could not read, his message would be imparted to her by the local priest, who could.
They were given turned-out chambers with beds, clean bedding and, for extra silver, a hearty meal of mutton stew, freshly baked bread and warm ale for them and a huge bone with scraps for Isabel’s dog. As well as that, they had the luxury of blissful hot baths in tall wooden tubs.
Will had sunk into the scented warmth in the private, secluded courtyard as Isabel had her bath in her chamber. He caught a shadowy glimpse of her as she looked out from her window, but she disappeared from view straight after.
* * *
Later, before retiring to bed, they sat side by side in front of the hearth in the small antechamber, the warmth of the fire penetrating their weary bones. It was distinctly cooler in England, particularly being so close to the sea with its brisk northerly wind, which rattled against the windowpane.
Will resumed his carving on the oval-shaped slate that he had now sanded and shaped. He wanted to complete it before…before the end of their journey. He slid a quick glance at Isabel and sighed. She seemed so pensive since their arrival, lost in her own musings.
‘You look troubled, my lady.’
She reached down and stroked Perdu, who was happily snoozing by her feet.
He tried again. ‘If you’re still worried about your meeting your mother and—’
‘No, it’s not that,’ she interrupted, looking straight ahead.
Damn.
Will knew what was troubling her. The moment he had told her of his plans for the following day, she had stiffened and withdrawn from him. It didn’t sit well with him either, but it was the only way forward. Painful as it was, it had to be this way.
Their last night travelling alone…
He had secured a wagon for Isabel to be conveyed back to Castle de Clancey, along with a widowed female companion. As well as this, new clothes had been bought from the local clothier, who was more than happy to have such a commission to work on through the night, for it meant a generous amount of coin for his troubles. Will would travel alongside them on a horse he had yet to procure, with a young stable boy who would act as a page as well as another man to help as guard. There were still a few details to resolve, but he hoped that they would leave for the final part of their journey on the morrow.
All of these plans were good, made with sound reason, and yet they meant that, from tomorrow, they would no longer share their journey as they had done…just the two of them.
From tomorrow, Isabel would officially become Lady Isabel de Clancey.
‘Let’s talk of different things,’ she said abruptly. ‘Would you show me instead how to carve the stone in that intricate way you’re doing?’
Will’s brows arched in the surprise. ‘Very well.’ He put down his tools and fetched a small stool, placing it in front of where he was sitting. ‘If you would oblige me by sitting here, Isabel, facing the hearth.’
She sat where he suggested as he resumed his seat behind her. Will leant forward and heard Isabel gasp as he dragged his arms around her, closing his fingers around hers. This close, he could see the delicate dusting of freckles along her smooth neck. This close, the scent from her skin and damp hair engulfed his senses. This close, he was reminded of things he yearned for, but could not have.
He cleared his throat and grabbed his tools in one hand and the slate in the other. He passed them to Isabel and once again covered her hands, marvelling at how small they were and how well they fit into his.
‘Shall we start with this chisel or would you like something smaller?’
‘This will do well.’
‘Good. You can see the designs that I have already carved and can either continue with what I’ve done, or come up with a different pattern.’
‘Should it be something that complements what is here?’
Will watched, mesmerised, as she gathered the length of her hair and allowed it to tumble over one shou
lder.
‘It should be anything that you choose. Anything that pleases you.’ He helped guide the angle of the chisel, tilting it to the side as he murmured from behind her, ‘Hold it like so, sweeping down from this angle in one motion…now hold the slate around the edge firmly. You don’t want it to slip away the moment you make contact.’
They continued to work silently. Carefully. Slowly.
He helped guide the tools, deftly showing her the correct way to carve intricate shapes. Her back rested his chest as he leant forward, his head over her shoulder, his breath close to her face.
‘That’s it…very good,’ he whispered encouragingly. He slid her a quick glance, noticing the tip of her tongue sticking out with a look of concentration on her face. His chest tightened in pain as though he had been speared through his damned heart.
He swallowed uncomfortably, knowing that he would always remember this. He would always remember the way she looked this eventide, settled in his arms with her hair draped over one shoulder, working with quiet diligence while adding her marks on the stone. He would have to put it all to memory—everything about her.
Eventually, she leant back, relinquishing the tools to Will, and held the stone in her hand, her task evidently complete. ‘What do you think?’
He studied the swirly patterns etched around his efforts, joining the sharp ends of his designs and extending them to form rounded shapes. The inexperience of her crude marks, somehow endearing.
‘Infinitely better than before.’ He grinned at her.
‘We both know that’s not true.’ She moved to sit beside him again. ‘Are you teasing me, Sir William?’
‘I, your errant knight?’ he said in mock outrage. ‘Do you think that I could ever stoop so low as to give false praise to a fair lady?’
She raised a sardonic brow. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘Absolutely not. Along with being a sensible sort of man, as I’ve often been called, I would never dream of being dishonest…especially as you still hold my chisel in your hand.’
She chucked. ‘I’m glad to hear it. My errant knight would know better than to do that.’
Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 65
